Of Sortings and Twinklings
by tartan-angel
Summary: Just a little one-shot that I had to get out of my system before moving back to some of my neglected works. Minerva finds herself quite perplexed in a strange new place.


_A/N: Just a little one-shot that found its way out of my brain and away from its plot bunny parents. Alos, I do not own any of the characters, settings, objects etc. other than Adam._

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><p>Minerva was not nervous at all.<p>

The Great Hall was everything she had imagined. The buzz of the students around her chattering, anticipating the sorting, spiralled slowly into an uneasy silence. She did spy some making bets with their friends as to who would be sorted into their House. The teachers, she noticed, were all smiling down expectantly at the huddle of first-years in which she was currently standing. And the ceiling.

Oh, the ceiling! She had heard of its enchantments but she had never imagined it being so clear, so alike the star-strung sky outside that it could have been made of glass.

As Minerva stared at the ceiling, those around her began to shuffle their feet nervously. She sighed deeply. Never one to tolerate fools, she found her contemporaries to be far too childish. _It is only a hat for Merlin's sake!_ Of course, she realised, the Muggleborns would not know that, but even the few Pureblood girls that she recognized from celebrations her parents had held were trembling.

It took her a while of staring at the ceiling to realise that there was somebody staring at her. Minerva could feel the weight of a curious gaze upon her and lowered her chin back down to its natural position. Two bright blue eyes were looking into hers. They were attached, of course, to a man whom she had met a handful of times before and whose eyes, she had noticed upon their first meeting, had an endearing tendency to sparkle at the most awkward of times.

They were sparkling now.

But then she realised why. She had been so lost in her musings that she had neglected to remember the fact that she was the tallest first year in the group. Towering over the others, she realised that her apparent lack of interest in Headmaster Dippet's speech must have been more evident than she would have anticipated. Despite herself, a light red crept up to taint her impossibly pale cheeks.

His eyes were still sparkling.

Minerva finally cast her gaze down at the stained flagstones (_honestly, who cleans this place?_) along with her fellow first-years. There they stayed throughout the remainder of Professor Dippet's speech about his hopes for "Hogwarts's newest additions" and his assurances that "Hogwarts is your home, no matter where you come from". These words, which were obviously intended to instil a sense of belonging and kinship in the student, made Minerva flick her head up towards the podium that the Headmaster stood behind.

"_No matter where"_? If only that were true.

It was some time before Professor Dumbledore, the man with the cheerfully twinkling eyes, began to read out the names of the students. Minerva was becoming impatient as her name was till a while away. Another new Hufflepuff (the third of the night) rushed over to their new House table and was greeted by a wealth of inviting, smiling faces. Minerva McKay already knew where she would be; Ravenclaw had housed her family for centuries and she was certain that was not about to change now.

At home, she was forever stuck in a book… well, "forever" is generally inaccurate when it comes to children. In fact, a great deal of Minerva McKay's young life had been spent in playing Quidditch with the other magical children in the village, who – to Minerva's mother's apprehension – were all male. We shall say, then, that she spent the majority of her time in reading, learning, storing away little snippets to further her already-advanced mind. She had been reading a particularly engaging volume of Imelda Lanceforth's _Practical Transfiguration_ series on the Hogwarts Express that very morning, when a light cough roused her from the text.

"_Excuse me," said a dark-haired boy with a heavy Scottish accent. "I wonder, is anybody sitting there?" He pointed to the vacant seat across from Minerva. He had known it was empty, but had asked out of politeness' sake. 'You must always be a gentleman, Adam, for there are far too few out there', was the only valuable nugget of information that his mother had forced upon him throughout his childhood._

"_Well, I see no luggage to indicate that they would be." Adam McGonagall smiled at the girl's forwardness._

"_There is no need to be quite so frank," he replied, sinking into the softly-cushioned chair. "Honestly, you try to be a gent…" She snorted disbelievingly and raised a dark eyebrow at him._

"_Chocolate frog?" She offered after a moment of silence._

"_What?"_

"_Oh, please tell me you have heard of chocolate frogs!" Adam shook his head as the girl pushed her long hair out of her face and, setting her heavy book down, began digging about in the pocket of her school robes. He looked in wonder at the ornate blue package she held in her palm._

"_Take it," she said when he made no reply. The girl smiled at him softly as he gazed in wonderment at the chocolate-coloured creature bouncing around before him. His eyes followed it around the carriage until the girl pointed her wand at it and the now still chocolate frog floated slowly to his outstretched palm._

"_I take it from your reaction that you are a Muggleborn." It was more of a statement of fact than a question, Adam decided. That had been what the teacher who came to his house to explain the situation to his parents had called him._

_He inclined his head in a very slight nod._

"_Does that bother you?" he asked when she hesitated to answer his gesture._

"_Not in the slightest." He trusted her answer, even though he had just met her. He was not sure why. He just trusted her. Goodness, he didn't even know her name and here he was thinking about putting his trust in her. Wait, he did not know her name._

"_Adam McGonagall," he announced, stretching a warm hand towards her._

"_Minerva McKay." Accepting his hand, she began to grin widely at him. "If you think the frog is magical, wait until you see the card!"_

Young Minerva smiled inwardly – and, she feared, let an external smirk seep out – as she recalled the long train journey from King's Cross to the Scottish Highlands. It had, indeed, been a more than enjoyable journey and, for the first time, she found herself with a twinge somewhere deep in her stomach. She feared she would not be spending much time with Adam McGonagall; she was almost certain he would become a Gryffindor. She had a knack for predicting such things.

At that moment, a warm hand slipped into hers and – as if he had seen into her thoughts – Adam McGonagall was smiling encouragingly at her. As Professor Dumbledore approached the 'M's, Minerva felt another deep wrenching in her gut as she realised she would soon be leaving the surprising comfort of Adam's grip.

"McGonagall, Adam."

That was it. He was gone.

Adam squeezed his new friend's hand before reluctantly letting go and walking proudly towards the stool upon the raised platform. Minerva watched with her breath caught in her throat. Only a few mere seconds passed before the frayed and patched old Sorting Hat announced to the sea of students:

"GRYFFINDOR!"

She had been right.

She wished she had not.

Her name was the very next on the list. Pushing her waist-length ebony tendrils once more from her face, she walked confidently (or what she had hoped to portray as confidently) towards the stool. As Professor Dumbledore raised the hat above her head, Minerva noted that his eyes were _still_ twinkling. _Merlin, would it kill him to turn that thing off?_

The weight of the Sorting Hat upon her head was slightly more than expected, but that did not matter once it started whispering in her ear.

"Miss McKay," it said, almost hissing, "I can see we will be having some trouble with you, the least of it being now. Where _can_ I put you?" Minerva did not reply. "There is kindness, yes. A truly Hufflepuff trait. Yes, that will come in handy. Then there is the intelligence… too much for one so young and so I am inclined to put you into Ravenclaw, like your father if I remember correctly."

"You do remember correctly," Minerva thought, urging the Sorting Hat to make a decision. She had become well aware that everyone was staring at her because she had already been sitting before the staff table for far too long.

"Ah, a sly one, are you not? Do not answer, girl. I see it. Always ready with a cunning plan and quite the trickster. Oh, you would be a welcome addition to Slytherin, I am sure –"

"I will _not_ be put into Slytherin, no matter what you say!" Minerva thought indignantly. Her annoyance was not helped by the Sorting Hat bursting into a bout of impromptu laughter that she was sure had not been confined to the whisper that had been in her ear previously. Yes, everybody had heard it… even those few Seventh years at the back that had lost all interest in the sorting.

"That temper. Feisty. Keep that with you. I am not prone to giving advice, girl, so accept this as a warning; it will aid you immensely. Fierce loyalty, as well, dwells in that heart of yours. Yes, I see that, also. Well, well, it seems I have made my decision." The Sorting Hat raised its voice to enable the crowd around her to hear.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

The weight was removed from her head but Minerva did not move for another few, heavy moments. Professor Dumbledore was, again, smiling down upon her silky head. Gryffindor. She had been wrong.

All traces of apprehension were soon swept from her mind as she glanced at the Gryffindor table and was met by the keen eyes of one Adam McGonagall. She left the raised platform and rushed towards the vacant seat next to him.

The rest of the sorting passed by in a breeze. Carefully clapping her hands together as each new student was welcoming into their respective House, Minerva grinned up at the staff table. Her thoughts, however, were much further away than the head table.

_Gryffindor,_ she thought, shaking her head lightly, _whatever would father say_?

But as Adam gripped her hand once more, she found that she no longer cared what her father thought. Things would be fine as they were. Inexplicably, she knew it.

Adam's eyes were twinkling.


End file.
